


Troika

by spoky



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoky/pseuds/spoky
Summary: DISCLAIMER: This story is RPF, meaning that I use the star image of real people to tell a completely fictional story. It's not meant to offend or insult anyone. Please do not share my fiction with the people I write about on social media or otherwise. Thank you. (For full disclaimer, please see my profile.)You can't choose who you fall in love with and sometimes it's inconvenient; it's challenging, cumbersome, difficult and pushes you in directions you previously thought impossible. This is a story about negotiating love when everything you thought you knew about family, relationships and sex proves to be insufficient.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is what it is partially thanks to coffeespoons (the AO3 author, not actual spoons, I love coffee tho). Go read their Vatya. Like, right now.

 

_“What happens if you fall in love with an individual, but that individual is more passive? He’s a bottom. And you’re also more passive. You’re a bottom. What you need to do is, break up . ‘Cause you know what you want, and you know how you want it, and you know that he’s not going to do it how you want it.”_

\- [Willam Belli](http://www.newnownext.com/30-days-of-willam-belli-can-two-bottoms-make-it-work-hint-no/09/2013/), 2013, 00:56-01:20

 

**May, 2017**

 

“Thank you,” Katya said as he stepped into the silver space.

“Not at all. Which floor?”

Katya glanced up from his mobile phone and smiled at the middle-aged woman who’d held the elevator, seeing him approaching.

“Top, thanks,” he said and smirked at his inner dialogue. _Top, thanks_. Not that many guys fought him on that one, not in West Hollywood anyway. Well, they hadn’t really fought him on it in Boston, either.  

The woman nodded in response, pressed the button and sighed heavily as she leaned against the elevator wall, closing her eyes.

“Rough day?” Katya asked as he stuffed the mobile back into his pocket. The woman looked worn out, carrying three bags of groceries and a backpack that belonged to a Spiderman-fan.

“You could says so,” she said and chuckled through her nose.

 _Bing_.

The elevator stopped at the second floor and a young, blonde girl jumped in through the slowly retreating doors.

“HA! Made it!” she announced victoriously, slightly out of breath and pointed at the woman with her index finger. She couldn’t have been older than six. Her hair was tied up to a messy ponytail that swung from side to side as she twirled around in the small space in her bright yellow glitter jellies. As she turned, she noticed Katya in the corner and got embarrassed. Shyly, she retreated next to the woman, who Katya guessed had to be the mother.

“Yes, to the second floor,” the woman said. “I thought you were supposed to beat me to the top?”

The elevator doors started to close slowly and the girl grabbed the spiderman backpack, throwing it sassily over her shoulder.

“No. I meant second,” she said and studied Katya discreetly through the mirror. The woman rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, clearly used to the child’s antics. “That’s a girl’s bracelet,” the girl said then, eyeing Katya’s wrist carefully as the elevator twitched to move again.

Katya glanced down at his wrist and chuckled. Trixie had forgotten the pink, plastic trinket into his car almost a month ago and he hadn’t had the chance to return it before today. He’d grabbed the thing from the backseat of his car before making his way to the apartment complex and decided to wear it, rather than stuff it into his backpack, thinking that the chances of him forgetting to return it were smaller that way. He fondled the jewellery affectionately, adjusting the lock against his pulse point and smiled at the girl.

“Yes, I guess it is,” he agreed.

“But you’re a boy,” the child said immediately, squinting her eyes as if trying to identify whether her gendering was accurate or not.

“ _Ethan_ ,” the woman said emphatically and looked down at the child scoldingly.

The child, Ethan, pursed his lips together and crossed his arms across his chest, covering the flower print of his light purple t-shirt. He never stopped staring, though.

“I’m sorry,” the woman apologised Katya. “They’re very interested in gender.”

“No, it’s alright,” Katya grinned, looking at Ethan and feeling a tiny bit jealous of their freedom and confidence. He wished he’d grown up in a similarly progressive time, in a society where a third pronoun was a possibility, but things had been a little different thirty years ago. “You’re right, I am a boy,” Katya said to Ethan, “- but _sometimes_ , I’m also a woman,” he added cryptically, as if letting Ethan into a secret.

Ethan looked at Katya skeptically at first but as the elevator binged for a sign that they’d reached their destination, they huffed as if coming to a conclusion.

“Yeah, I get that,” they said, nodding compassionately to Katya before storming out, their hands spread wide as if flying, their lips pushed forward to make convincing airplane sounds.

Katya turned to look at the woman, who was now staring at him openly.

“Thank you,” she said seriously. “They don’t get to meet a lot of adults like them.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” Katya praised as they stepped to the hallway, hoping that the woman knew what he meant. Thank you for providing a safe space for a child like me, thank you for letting them be what they are, and most importantly, thank you for not being ashamed of them.

Katya nodded his goodbye as they parted ways and could still hear distant, cheerful airplane sounds echoing in the hallway as he paused behind Alaska’s door. Meeting Ethan had left him slightly unsettled and while he was excited for his meeting with Trixie and Alaska, somehow he felt unbalanced, as if something wasn’t quite right. He shook his head and knocked, determined that the feeling was fleeting, nothing that a cigarette couldn’t sort out. Luckily, it took Alaska just a moment to answer his summons.

“Hey girl!” Alaska greeted as he opened the front door and let Katya into the apartment.

Katya pulled the other man into a brief greeting hug, took notice of how good he smelled and took another exaggerated whiff as he squeezed the man closer.

“You smell divine! Just hold me as I dry hump your leg, would you?”

“You’re confusing me with Willam, _again_ ,” Alaska snorted, barely hiding his amusement as he slithered out of Katya’s arms. “But I’ll take a hello?” he added with a flirtatious tone and cocked his eyebrows suggestively at Katya over his shoulder as he led him further into the organised chaos he called home.

“Hello,” Katya drawled and grinned widely, eyeing around in Alaska’s apartment.

Unlike Delta Work’s notorious label as a messy queen, Alaska’s similar reputation had nothing to do with his behaviour on social media. The apartment was clean, but there was clutter on most surfaces: jewelry, makeup, photos, art, drag queen merchandise, post-it notes, postcards -- some of which he’d clearly received through the post whilst others sat tightly in the protection of their plastic sleeves. Katya dropped his backpack on the couch, next to the embroidered pillow that read STUN in pine green, and turned to Alaska.

“Seriously though, dire nicotine deficiency, it’s either a cigarette or a panic attack. Choose wisely.”

Alaska chuckled and placed the mug Katya hadn’t noticed him holding on the coffee table.

“You know where the balco-”

Alaska’s sentence was cut short by a knock at the door.

“That’s Brian,” Alaska noted and turned to walk back to the front door, leaving Katya hovering next to the sofa, baffled. He couldn’t recall a single instance of Alaska referring to Trixie as Brian, not one, and yet, the name had rolled through Alaska’s lips with complete ease. The two must’ve gotten close while working on their project. The thought caused a tiny sting of jealousy in Katya’s lower abdomen, but he quickly buried it underneath other unimportant feelings and thoughts. After all, he was here now, they’d invited him over to talk about the project, there was no reason to feel left out. He took couple of steps to his right, for a better view of the hallway and the front door.

Katya followed with interest and slight confusion as Alaska opened the door with a rushed “Katya is here” instead of a “Hello” and let Trixie into the apartment. The pair nodded to each other but no hugs or verbal greetings were exchanged between them. It was odd, but Katya didn’t have time to analyse the interaction further as Trixie noticed him in the living room and rushed over.  
  
“I thought you’d decided _against_ transitioning, Mr. Dolezal,” Trixie mocked as he pulled Katya into a firm hug, sending him into round of giggles.

“Yes yes, against genital snippety-snappety,” Katya agreed enthusiastically, “but look at this skiiiin!”

“Very Pocahontas,” Trixie nodded in approval. “I hope its spray tho’. I’ve put my money on lung cancer, not every fricking subtype of melanoma.”

Katya screamed and flung his fists in the air excitedly. He hadn’t seen Trixie in over three weeks and while they hadn’t stopped texting, being in the actual presence of his best friend felt somehow soothing. Katya’s socially constructed reality felt little more balanced, interesting and manageable in a close proximity to Tracy Martel. He still wanted his cigarette, though.

“Thanks for the reminder. I need a smoke break,” Katya announced, glancing at Alaska briefly for permission to use his balcony. “It’s the least I can do for Tracy’s retirement fund.”

“I’ll be sure to bring that up when they ask for a character reference.”

  
  
*** ***

 

Katya closed the balcony door behind him and took a seat at the rattan bench next to Trixie. The sun was starting to set, discreetly painting the sky with hues of orange over the still dominant baby blue. It was hot, though. One of the hottest days yet and Katya pulled at the collar of his t-shirt to stretch it out. The leg of his shorts was rubbing uncomfortably against his damp thigh and he felt momentarily jealous of Alaska, who didn’t seem too bothered by the heat in his white tank top and jeans.

“Kim never sweats,” Trixie chuckled. “It’s so weird. Once we were in New Orleans and I swear you could’ve cooked eggs on the sidewalk and this guy is just there, chilling, while the rest of us are on the verge of dehydration, smelling like rotten cabbage.”

“You trying to tell me something?” Katya asked, cocking his eyebrows as he lit his cigarette. The first inhale worked as a lasso that pulled most of Katya’s disoriented thoughts into a some type of, if not organised, then at least contained pile.

“I’m used to your rank,” Trixie brushed him off, spreading his legs wider as he slid slightly lower on the bench to get more comfortable. Katya couldn’t not to notice how his shorts got tighter at the crotch, trapping his dick into a very evident bulge.

“It’s genetic,” Alaska said, catching Katya’s attention.

Alaska was leaning to the balcony rail, his hands crossed over his chest loosely. The pose reminded Katya of Ethan in the elevator. The look that Alaska was giving him, though, Katya couldn’t place. It was curious and simultaneously somehow judgemental, criticising? Alaska glanced quickly at Trixie’s crotch and back to Katya, giving him a discreet but teasing smile. Katya just grinned, not even slightly embarrassed that he’d been caught appreciating Trixie’s current posture.  
  
“Genetic?” Trixie asked, turning to look at Alaska.

“Yeah, like, I read somewhere that the Koreans have like, less sweat glands or something, so they don’t smell like the rest of us.”

“You’re kidding,” Katya snorted.

“No no, I’m not. Google it.”

“I’ll add it to the list of things to google the next time I’m having an existential crisis and need to make sure the world is actually relatively real,” Katya said through laughter before taking a long drag of his cigarette and inhaling deeply. He blew the smoke slowly up towards the ceiling and from the corner of his eye studied Alaska, who was smoking his cigarette in shallower breaths. Alaska’s style reminded Katya of the type you saw in some European movies where less than half of the smoke was inhaled after the initial drag while the rest was released in an extravagant puff. It was somehow sexier, maybe little extra, very _drag_. In conclusion, suited Alaska perfectly. “So, you guys wanna tell me about this project of yours?”

The relaxed atmosphere on the balcony shifted after the question. Trixie corrected his position to sit more straightforward while Alaska started to absentmindedly massage his shoulder. Katya glanced to Trixie whose gaze was directed at Alaska under his slightly wrinkled brows. He was rubbing his right index and middle finger against his thumb in small circles, a sign of which Katya recognised as Trixie’s subconscious habit while nervous. The pair were looking at each other in silence and Katya frowned. They had invited him over to talk about the project, but didn’t want to talk about it?

“I think I want a beer,” Alaska said suddenly and Trixie was quick to jump on the train.

“I think there are couple of Stellas in the fridge.”

The speed in which Trixie stood up and stepped towards the door made it obvious that he was trying to escape the situation. Katya was getting more confused by the second.

“It’s fine, I’ll get them,” Alaska drawled, stumped his half smoked cigarette into the ashtray and wiggled his way around Trixie to get to the balcony door.

There were two things that struck to Katya as the two competed in what seemed to be a race out of Katya’s uncomfortable presence and questions. One, Trixie seemed curiously knowledgeable about the alcohol contents of Alaska’s refrigerator and two, the ease in which Alaska opened the rainbow striped jar placed on the windowsill next to the balcony door told of a well internalised habit. Almost subconsciously Alaska had pushed aside the ceramic lid with his pinkie, grabbed one of the white balls between his index and middle finger like a Go stone and popped the thing into his mouth before leaving the balcony, not once even glancing at the jar itself as he had been staring at Trixie.

As Alaska disappeared inside, Trixie was left hovering in between the balcony door and his earlier seat and Katya couldn’t recall a time he’d ever witnessed Trixie quite as tense. Possibly in Australia when they’d almost gotten arrested? The Barbie was shifting his weight from left to right and was clearly at loss on what to do next. Trixie’s discomfort felt alien to Katya. He’d thought they were beyond these type of encounters but apparently, he’d been wrong.

“What’s in the jar?” Katya asked, hoping for the mundane question to break the strained charge.

“Mints,” Trixie answered instantly, still staring after Alaska, “I would think,” he rushed to add as a hasty afterthought whilst turning to Katya, as if suddenly realising that he wasn't supposed to know. “I would think mints.”

Katya looked up to Trixie, puzzled. He could think of two reasons why one might want a mint after a cigarette, neither of which made very much sense in the given situation, so he dismissed the oddity as one of Alaska’s quirks. Something was bugging him, though. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it as the trepidity Trixie practically radiated made him feel ill at ease, blurring his thoughts.

When Trixie had called him two days ago to arrange the meeting, explaining that he had something he wanted to talk about, something new and exciting and slightly out of his comfort zone, something that involved Alaska, Katya had gotten excited. Whatever the two had planned  was bound to be hilarious, but also professionally executed, and Katya was here -- H. E. R. E. _Here._ \-- for it. It had been months since Trixie had first mentioned that he was working on something with Alaska and absolutely refused to spill any of the details. Katya had tried probing Alaska for some information as well, but the man had acted like Helen Keller without a pencil. He felt a little honoured that they’d finally decided to include him, whatever the project was, but the awkwardness and secrecy was driving him slightly mad.

“Come on man, he’ll get them,” Katya said and pulled Trixie back onto the sofa from his shorts leg.

Trixie complied with ease and took a deep breath.

“Fuck man,” Trixie swore quietly and brushed his palm against his knees. “I’m just trying not to fuck this up.”

“What exactly is there to fuck up?” Katya asked, but knew that he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

When Trixie didn’t reply at all, however, or even recognise that Katya had said anything, Katya started to think that maybe, just maybe, it would’ve been more productive to stay at home tonight. He could’ve watched the latest season of Game of Thrones instead, as it seemed like Alaska and Trixie were not going to get anywhere. He leaned his elbows against his knees and thought about Ethan. The confidence of the kid intrigued him.

“I met this kid today,” Katya said not quite certain why he was telling the story.

“Kid?”

“Yeah,” Katya nodded. “Curious little thing. I thought they were a girl at first but then the name was Ethan, so I think non-binary.”

“He introduced himself to you?”

“ _They_ ,” Katya emphasised, throwing Trixie a judgmental look with cocked eyebrows. Trixie lifted his hands up in mock surrender and pursed his lips. “No, the mom called them that. Or like, I assume she was the mother.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Katya turned his gaze to the yard where a group of young teenagers were fighting over a inflatable dolphin. They weren’t being incredibly loud, or maybe they were just too far for him to hear, but the flirtatious play he could see them engaging in was disturbingly heteronormative. They boys would steal the toy and take it into the pool, into which the girls couldn’t possibly enter because of their hair or makeup, possibly both. So they would guile one of the boys to help them to steal the toy back, and so it went, back and forth, like a very peculiar mating dance. Ethan would probably have to pick a side eventually.

“They were - was?” Katya asked Trixie who just shrugged, clueless. “Were,” Katya decided. “They were wearing these yellow glitter jellies-”

“-that you wanted?”

Katya laughed out loud before singsonging: “Yes, God! And like this purple tee and I… I think I was kinda jealous of their confidence.”

Trixie hummed and nodded as a sign that Katya should go on, that he was listening.

“I don’t know, man,” Katya said and grinned. “Like, meeting them was just like...” Katya paused to look for a word.

“Nice?” Alaska suggested and drew Katya’s attention up from the young, lekking teenagers.

“Yeah,” Katya grinned, meeting Alaska’s eyes. “Nice.”

Trixie grabbed the green Stella Artois Alaska was holding out for him and took a sip.

“I’ve got some weed, if you’d like?” Alaska asked Katya, once again leaning against the balcony rail. Katya chuckled through his nose and shook his head as he lit a second cigarette.

“Nah man, I’m good.”

 

* *

 

Katya threw a used napkin on the empty pizza box and leaned his elbows against the dinner table as he lifted his gaze up to Trixie and Alaska on the other side. Trixie was munching on the last slice of pizza, paying clearly no attention on Alaska, who was talking vividly about something Katya hadn’t heard a word of since, well, since the beginning really. He assumed it was something to do with drag, purely based on the excited glimmer in Alaska’s eyes, but he wasn’t really listening. Instead, he fixated on the incredible ease in which Trixie reached over Alaska to grab his beer, to wash down the pieces of pizza he was currently chewing. Trixie had finished his own bottle ages ago and now failed to return the stolen bottle back to Alaska, placing it instead next to his empty one. The exchange reminded Katya of his father who was in a habit of stealing his mother’s red wine on occasion, if she didn’t finish it quickly enough.

“So, spill,” Katya interrupted Alaska without apologies. “And for the record, I know that both of you are capable of coming up with ideas worthy of the Vienna Academy of Art rejecting young Adolf, but I’m open for anything consensual and unanimous,” Katya said sternly as he leaned further into his elbows. He was determined to get to the bottom of this damn project the other two had been avoiding for the past two hours.

Trixie and Alaska exchanged yet another uncertain look between them, as if once more confirming with each other that Katya was to be let into the secret. Katya wanted to roll his eyes but restrained. No idea, however tentative, could be that fragile. Had they fucking met him? Truthfully speaking, he felt like he should’ve been slightly offended that they kept going back and forth with their decision to include him.

“Look,” Katya sighed. “I get the impression that this thing of yours might be a little out there, even for me. But listen, we still have Bob the Politician as the current fucking reigning. As long as it’s not another United Airlines joke, or a rerun of the _RuPaul's Drag Race Season 76_ skit, because both of those were badly executed, mama, and I’m talking some serious BFA offensive to be edgy bullshit, I think we should break some PC boundaries - or bones, if it comes to that.”

Trixie blinked at Katya’s words and Alaska bit her lip to prevent a laugh.

“God I hope we don’t break any bones,” Alaska muttered quietly and Trixie threw a disapproving look at him, trying hard to hide his amusement.

Katya watched, intrigued, as Trixie swallowed the final pieces of the pizza, wiped his mouth to the back of his palm and faced Katya with a rather un-Trixie-like seriousness.

“There’s no project per se.”

Katya’s enthusiasm was taken down a notch.

“No?” he asked, now completely confused. “Don’t tell me, you’ve collectively decided to stop the music industry and retire to Baan Souy at Pattaya?”

He reached over the table to offer a hand in solace to Trixie. “I know you want to support your singer-songwriter sister here,” he said solemnly and glanced briefly to Alaska, “- but it’s not your time yet, you still have some good years in you.”

Alaska chuckled lightly as Trixie pressed the feet of her palms into his eye sockets and leaned his elbows to the table, groaning loudly.

“I could-” Alaska started but was immediately cut off.

“No,” Trixie said firmly and sat back up. “I’m doing this. I _need_ to do this.”

Alaska nodded and successfully avoided Katya’s questioning eyes.

“Katya,” Trixie said seriously, _too_ seriously, and Katya had to grin. There was bound to be a joke, it would just take some time for Trixie to crack.

“We’re not retiring. We’re dating.”

Katya was looking at Trixie straight into the eyes and had to admire the raw talent in which he embodied the character. Trixie’s words came across completely sincere, as if he was entirely convinced of his own words, with no trace of the practiced script whatsoever. It was Meryl Streep level artistry. Katya glanced at Alaska, who was still avoiding his gaze and thus he turned back to Trixie, who was now pursing his lips together like he always did when expecting an unfavourable reaction or bad news from his manager.

“You’re kidding,” Katya said and realised that now she too sounded serious, _too_ serious. He rewinded back the previous two hours: the odd non-greeting when Trixie had arrived, the avoidance of the project as a topic of discussion, Trixie’s familiarity with Alaska’s refrigerator’s alcohol contents, the stolen bottle of Stella Artois, even the mints in the clay rainbow jar on the balcony made suddenly sense; Trixie had always hated kissing people who tasted or smelled like cigarettes. Trixie and Alaska in a romantic relationship made about as much sense as the Trump Presidency; just because it seemed too absurd to be true didn't mean it wasn't real.

“I wish I was, because your face is a fucking picture right now,” Trixie snorted, but his voice didn’t quite reach the lighthearted tone he was clearly aiming for.

Trixie was nervous, Katya realised. He was apprehensive of Katya’s reaction and was waiting for his reply, possibly even his approval? Holy Mary and Jesus’ twelve Apostles in alphabetical order, they were _not joking_. Trixie Mattel, Katya’s co-patient from RuPaul’s seventh group therapy session, was, if her word was to be trusted -- like, who knew, she could’ve been on any kind of drug possible! It was West Hollywood after all. Katya swallowed the idea. Trixie Mattel was the least likely of them to be high in this situation and currently, according to her words, dating Katya’s all time favourite drag superstar from RuPaul’s best friend race.

Katya turned to look at Alaska who was now looking at him calculatingly, as if trying to figure out what was going on in his head. What _was_ going on in his head? Katya didn’t even know himself. He was shocked, and confused, and a little disappointed that Trixie hadn’t told him earlier. How long had this been going on? He figured he should probably also feel happy for the pair, but he was too busy feeling shocked and confused to be able to branch out.

He turned his eyes back to Trixie, who looked slightly worried. What was he expecting Katya to say? Surely there was nothing he could say that would somehow affect the situation? Was Trixie expecting him to be upset? Why? Just because Alaska was Katya’s favourite, and admittedly hot as fuck, that didn’t mean that Katya would be upset. Hell, even if the game at _Hey Queen_ had been just a joke, Katya had picked Tatianna over Alaska to kai kai with! It had been _Trixie himself_ who had picked Alaska, not Katya, and… A small lightbulb lit in Katya’s head, very similarly to the scenes one might see in the 1990’s cartoons. Trixie had picked Alaska... The self-proclaimed _high femme_ with a rainbow collection of “BOTTOM”-labelled baseball caps had been chosen by the country cowboy for a mutually satisfying coupling. Now, it certainly wasn’t the politest, or even the most relevant question. But it certainly was the first one Katya’s brain jumped to and before he could prevent himself, he had blurted it out:

“But, who tops?”

Trixie groaned in frustration and hid his face to his arms against the table.

“Funny you should ask,” Alaska drawled slowly as he reached to gently massage Trixie’s neck, an amused grin decorating his lips. “We were kinda hoping that _you_ would.”

 


	2. Chicago, May, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie visits Boystown, Chicago, after his second elimination and meets Alaska Thunderfuck for the first time in person.

**May, 2015**

Boystown was supporting its regular Saturday night buzz. Brian had seen two bachelorette parties before even reaching Halsted street and a boy in a purple tank-top had tricked him into accepting a flyer for a new massage parlour in Chinatown. The address was on the same street as Kimski, the odd Korean-Polish fusion restaurant Kim liked to visit hungover. Brian folded the leaflet and stuffed it into his rear pocket as he turned right from Newport avenue and continued his way to Roscoe’s.

It was surprisingly warm for early May and he’d been wandering around in the streets of Chicago, making sure to arrive fashionably late to avoid the line. He crossed Roscoe street with couple of quick leaps and lifted his hand as a thank you to the cab driver that had slowed down to wait for him. Muffled music was echoing from the bar as he reached the familiar red telephone booth next to Roscoe’s Tavern and took notice of the small but surprisingly diverse group of men who had gathered to smoke next to it.

“Hey, dude,” one of them approached Brian as he passed. “You don’t happen to have a lighter?”

“Sorry,” Brian said and shook his head apologetically. “Don’t smoke.”

“Worth a shot, thanks anyway,” the man said, shrugged and turned back to his friends as Brian proceeded to the entrance.

“Ticket and ID?” the bouncer asked in deep bass and Brian paused to find the VIP wristband Kim had given him earlier. “Isn’t that Trixie?” He could hear one of the other guys drawl as he searched through his wallet. Where had he put the damn thing?

“Who’s Trixie?” a deeper voice asked and Brian chuckled as he pulled the silver paper wristband out of his wallet, flashed it to the bouncer with a half grin and pulled his sleeve up to put it on.

“You know, the Barbie from Drag Race, with the weird makeup. She was eliminated yesterday, _again_ _._ ”

“Look, babe,” a new voice joined the conversation. “I promised to come to see this show with you, alright? But that doesn’t mean that I actually care.”

Fair, Brian thought, and refreshing. Maybe he could date the guy? He was tempted to turn around and take a better look.

“But she’s famous!”

“You the Barbie?” the bouncer chortled at Brian as he extended his neck to look at the crowd standing couple of feet away. Clearly amused, he brushed over his thick moustache while eyeing the men behind Brian.

“I’m afraid so,” Brian admitted quietly and lifted his wrist up to show that he was appropriately tagged for the party. He tried his best to insinuate with his eyebrows that he didn’t want to deal with the Drag Race fan behind him.

The bouncer got the hint.

“Well in that case,” the man joked and opened the door, “Welcome to Roscoe’s!” he announced as he pushed Brian inside, closing the door behind him. The guy who had recognised Brian as Trixie had no time to react.

Brian shook his head at the encounter as he stepped into the crowded bar and studied the familiar space; the red walls and dark wood, the ugly lamps that reminded him of cracked in half egg shells hanging from the ceiling. _Choices._ The staff had yet to take his advice to reduce the random, and apparently steadily growing, selection of paper decorations that hung above the bar in faded rainbow colours. Stepping into Roscoe’s felt like coming home. A home you were about to sell at a severely reduced price after a messy divorce, but home; and it was crammed with interested buyers.

Brian glanced around. Roscoe’s was never this packed when the local Chicago queens performed, and Trixie would probably never attract a similar audience, but it was nice to dream. He wiggled his way to the bar between the warm bodies, muttering off-handed apologies and trying not to step on anyone’s toes along his way. He could feel people getting annoyed at him and someone shoved his shoulder, trying to hurry him along. As he finally reached the bar top and sighed in relief, he heard an amused snort at his left.

“Don’t get your hopes up. The twinks are not here to make money.”

Brian glanced up and was faced with a hefty, older man in a light blue shirt. His bushy grey eyebrows were drawn into an annoyed frown and he was tapping his debit card against the bar with steady slow clicks.

“Sorry?”

“The staff,” the man said and pointed at the other end where the young bartenders had gathered to watch the performance.

Brian rolled his eyes and stretched his neck to see the stage himself. Jinkx Monsoon stood tall in her heels and carrot orange curls as she dragged the final note of _Creep_ before thanking the audience that roared in appreciation. Brian also caught a glimpse of a pink banner above the stage; the clearly hand painted cursive “JUSTICE FOR TRIXIE” causing the corners of his mouth to curl upwards in approval. Alaska and Jinkx clearly knew their audience.

Brian had seen pictures and videos of Alaska’s shows previously, but this was the first time he witnessed one of her Trixie-banners in person. It made him feel somehow appreciated, as if an older sister, who you knew would fucking murder you if you stepped into their room without permission, was standing up for you against The Plastics. It was nice to get some recognition and while Trixie Mattel would never be crowned America’s Next Drag Superstar, watching Alaska step onto the stage and take over the entire bar with her mere presence was enough to convince Brian that the crown, and the title, were not everything. There would be other opportunities, other platforms.

Someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder and he turned back to the elderly man on his left. The man was holding a drink and nodded his head towards the bar.

“Turns out, they do want to get tipped.”

With his Coors Light finally in hand Brian found a spot in the audience, readjusted his trucker cap and laughed at the joke Alaska Thunderfuck had cracked on the stage. She really was brilliant and sometimes Brian thought she should’ve won season five, but maybe America just hadn’t been ready for yet another freak show after Miss Needles? He took a sip of his beer and frowned at the two girls that were leaning to each other, crying dramatically.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here!”

“I know, we’re _so blessed_ and this is so amazing. I love her _so much_ and I hate that they’re not doing a meet‘n’greet but, like, at least we -- hey! Are you listening?”

Brian closed his eyes briefly, reminded himself that the monetary value of a dollar bill from a whiny straight girl was equal to the dollar bills from everyone else, and concentrated back on Alaska. Her long blonde, bird’s nest of hair, her black paper dress and the magnificent voice that cracked on purpose, making the audience laugh. Brian had to wonder if the queen ever took singing seriously. As the number ended and as Alaska disappeared backstage Brian watched Trannika Rex take her place. It was good to be back in Boystown, surrounded by familiar faces. He turned to walk back to the bar, only to be interrupted in mid step by none other than Shea Couleé.

“Girl!” Shea drawled her greeting as she pulled Brian into a loose hug. “Good to see you!”

Brian couldn’t even remember when he’d last seen the queen. It had been _way_ too long.

“Well, you know. If the other RuGirls take the risk of being seen with you, I figured I could too,” Brian said and blew an air kiss in the direction of Shea’s left cheek, carefully avoiding her makeup.

“Don’t start, Firkus,” Shea chuckled. “You know you can’t keep up.”

Brian knew it to be true and gladly moved to a safer ground. They exchanged some newsworthy updates on who was dating who, who was getting most gigs and what was going on in the Chicago drag scene in general. Brian had just avoided a question about Drag Race when Shea was called back to work.

“You should come backstage,” Shea invited. “The others would love to see you.”

Brian hesitated. He knew that at some point he would have to get more acquainted with RuGirls beyond his season and he really wanted to catch up with the Chicago girls, so as Shea pulled him along, Brian gave in. It would be better to get over his insecurities right now, before he would actually have to work with the famous queens, which was actually a real possibility. The thought of it still freaked him out slightly.

Brian stepped into the dressing room one step behind Shea and was immediately introduced to Jinkx and Alaska as Trixie Mattel. He stayed for the brief and required pleasantries, but quickly made his way to the safety of his old friends as the other two RuGirls kept joking back and forth in Golden Girls references.

“Are they always so intimating?” Brian asked Shea, causing the queen laugh loudly.

“Says the clown currently on Logo,” Trannika snorted. “You’ll be equally intimidating in no time.”

“Doubt it,” Brian said and shivered. He couldn’t imagine Trixie becoming as famous or successful as Jinkx or Alaska, hell, Trixie hadn’t made it to even top five! He would be ever so lucky if he could land some more gigs for a while and make enough connections to find a well-paying job behind the scenes of the industry. That way, he wouldn’t have to worry about money and could continue drag as a hobby. He glanced back to Alaska and Jinkx, and concluded that while they played the same sport, Alaska and Jinkx had established their place in the Major League, while Trixie still dabbled with the minors. Quite literally, if one looked at her fanbase.

Kim’s dress emergency interrupted Brian’s train of thought and he followed in slight amusement as Shea rushed to her bag for some safety pins before the fabric could tear further.

“Anyone got translucent nail polish?” Kim asked, holding the fraying chiffon with pursed lips.

“What?” Brian asked, turning at Kim with knitted brows. What did she need nail polish for?

“Yeah,” Alaska interjected from the other side of the room. “I think I do.”

Brian was surprised that Alaska had listened into the conversation and felt a little self-conscious that she might’ve heard his earlier comments as well. He watched her find a half used 15ml top coat nail varnish from her suitcase and hand it to Shea, who snatched the bottle with a cheerful “Thank you”.

“See,” Shea sneered, looking down her nose at Brian as she passed. “That’s what we call professionalism. Take notes, honey.”

Brian spread his hands in an exaggerated ‘What the fuck’-gesture and raised his brows at Shea, his mouth open. “What did I do?” he asked, bewildered.

“It’s more about what you _didn’t_ do,” Kim explained as she offered the fabric to Shea to fix.

Brian snorted and rolled his eyes while taking a sip from his beer. He was often the butt of the joke for Shea and Kim and as Trannika was still staring at her phone, he wouldn’t get any help from there, either. He was also suddenly very aware of Alaska in the room, even if she had returned to her conversation with Jinkx. They were talking about their previous show together and how they should throw more shade at their season five sisters.

“- still bitter about that,” Alaska laughed brightly. “She really wanted to make it to the top.”

“Oh honey, she can top me,” Jinkx cackled, sending Alaska to a round of giggles. “Top me until I’ve had it-” she waited for Alaska to pick up the cue, “- officially!” they roared together.

Brian chuckled quietly at their antics and followed with curiosity as Jinkx sighed, getting a little somber.

“Seriously, though,” she said, looking at the floor. “I hope she gets over it. For my sake.”

Alaska nodded at the statement and placed her hand on Jinkx’s knee in comfort. “Another drink?”

The suggestion made Jinkx smile and she turned to the Chicago queens.

“Ladies!” she announced brightly, catching everyone’s attention. “Cocktails, anyone?”

“We’re up in a minute,” Kim declined, nodding to Trannika, who was still on her phone.

“Yeah, like five minutes ago,” Trannika corrected and Shea and Kim turned to her swiftly.

“What?!” they chorused in panic. Trannika gave them a tired look over her phone, cocking her eyebrows mockingly.

“Jesus fuck,” Shea laughed in relief. “You got me.”

Trannika rolled her eyes and dropped her mobile into the bag that was lying in her feet.

“We _do_ need to go, though,” she added and started to walk towards the stage, pulling Kim with her.

“Cosmos or Margaritas?” Shea asked and got up from the floor while rolling the nail polish bottle shut. She walked to Jinkx and handed the borrowed item back to Alaska with another “Thank you”.

“I’m feeling adventurous,” Jinkx smirked and got up, hooking her arm around Shea’s. “Let’s get something new!”

Shea grinned widely and took a step towards the exit. “I know just the thing,” she said cunningly and looked at Alaska. “And you, mam?”

Alaska chuckled and shook her head.

“Her loss,” Shea snorted and lead Jinkx out of the dressing room.

Brian stared after the pair and took yet another sip of his beer. He decided to believe that his half full bottle was the main reason why he hadn’t been included in the invitation, rather than Shea just being a shady bitch. It was probably both, and he sighed in frustration. He was extremely aware of the silence between himself and Alaska and browsed his collection of appropriate small talk topics. He got nothing, though, and the silence stretched; he couldn’t think. It was getting more awkward by the second. He blamed it on the alcohol and Alaska’s intimidating aura.

He cleared his throat and stood up. “Right, then,” he said, intending to come up with an excellent but probably obvious excuse to leave. I’m tired, work tomorrow, long day, you know the gist, or something along those lines, but before he had time to come up with anything remotely acceptable, Alaska asked him a question.

“When did you start doing Trixie?”

Brian blinked. _Of course!_ That’s what you talked about with other drag queens; _drag!_ Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Umm,” he said frowning. When had he started doing drag? Why had he started doing drag? What was drag? Before he could sink further into his existential crisis, he took a seat at one of the stools nearby, hoping that the position would calm down his nerves.

“I was eighteen and needed to like, fill in for this guy in a play,” he said, trying to remember the details. “I guess it started from there.”

Alaska nodded and Brian blinked. Oh, right. It was his turn to ask something. That was how conversations worked.  
  
“How about you?”

Alaska chuckled. She took a better position on the sofa and kicked off her heels, wiggling her toes in relief as she launched into a long explanation about her fascination with drag as a form of performative art, but also as a medium to explore gender and connect with people in the gay community. Brian started to slowly relax as he listened to her talk and soon realised that he was nodding along, agreeing with a lot of things Alaska was saying.

“-and you never make enough from just tips-”

“Tell me about it-”

“-right, exactly! And it was just fun, you know-”

It was interesting how quickly Alaska made Brian feel at ease and as they eventually branched out to different topics, Brian suddenly realised that he was having an actual conversation with the Queen Supreme; a conversation beyond the conventional drag-lingo and trade-talk laced with pop-culture references. The discussion was actually more along the lines of a drunken Uber ramble about emotions and the purpose of life, but neither of them were plastered, which made the situation ever so slightly more absurd.

“It’s not that I don’t want to get ‘married’,” Alaska explained, putting actual quotation marks around the word with her fingers. “I just don’t see why we need to call it marriage. I’m all for stable, loving, equal relationships and rights. I just think we need little more imagination over what is family, and what kind of relationships work within the community.”

“But if someone wants that? A monogamous, committed relationship with kids and a mortgage?”

“Well that’s their choice,” Alaska agreed, nodding, while removing her makeup with some wipes. “I just think that this obsession with marriage has left a lot of other important issues undiscussed and that it leaves out a lot of queers who don’t, like, fit into the system,” she continued and pulled a tight, black t-shirt over her head, serving average Joe gay club realness.

“So, you’re saying that they don’t deserve to be stoned to death for not leading STD-ridden pink fluffy flamboyantly homosexual unicorn lives?” Brian asked, raising his eyebrows in fake outrage as he threw a bottle cap in the air and caught it, as if ready to throw it at the next offensively hetero gay-guy that stepped into the room.

“No!” Alaska shrieked a laugh and leaned to the dresser for balance. The way Alaska laughed, the total surrender to the feeling as her knees bent, her mouth opened and her eyes formed two feline lines made Brian smile. It was was contagious, the way in which she laughed, gasping for breath, voice slightly higher and a lot more hoarse than what Brian would’ve expected. Just looking at her struggle through made Brian want to do it again, to say something funny to keep her entertained. The feeling was similar to the one he’d experienced with Katya, but while with Katya he felt more like an equal, that they were laughing together, making each other laugh, with Alaska it was definitely _him_ that made _her_ laugh.  
  
Alaska got up and dropped her knee high boots on top of her suitcase while still trying to calm her breath. She stepped closer to Brian, slightly too close to Brian’s liking and as he was about to lean back she extended a long, slender arm towards him.

“Justin,” he introduced himself. “Nice to meet you.”  
  
Brian took the offered hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Brian.”

Justin’s skin felt cold against Brian’s and he was surprised to realise that Justin’s hands were actually bigger than his. Alaska looked so small and gangly on stage that Brian had managed to forget that underneath the makeup and hairspray there was actually a man with testosterone boosted bone-structure.

“I know,” Justin smiled and Brian realised the handshake was getting slightly longer than what was necessary.

The comment took Brian by surprise and he had blurted out a “You do?” before he had time to catch himself.

Justin chuckled, finally releasing Brian’s hand and leaving behind a tingly feeling that Brian promptly wiped against his thigh.

“I looked you up, was kinda hoping you’d make it to the top.”

“Aww,” Brian drawled, “I bet you say that to all of the girls.”

He took a sip of his beer and hoped his blush wasn’t showing despite that he could feel his neck and cheeks warm up. Justin grinned in response, shaking his head slightly before he suddenly extended his hand to Brian once more.

“Come on, Barbie doll, let’s go dance!”

Brian blinked. It had been almost two hours since the show had ended and without a meet and greet most of the overly fanatic fans had probably disappeared. Jinkx had left the venue without problems thirty minutes ago, but Brian wasn’t sure if it was the wisest decision to go dance in Roscoe’s tonight. The possibility of the evening turning into an unorganised, free meet and greet was a little too real.

“I dunno, man,” Brian hesitated. “Like, I’m in, but do you, like, do you think they’ll actually leave you to it?”

Justin pursed his lips and let his hand fall back to his side. Brian could see the man was disappointed and for whatever reason felt like he needed to fix the situation. Fortunately, he knew the perfect place if one wanted to shake off some race chasers.

“Ok, wait,” Brian said, swiping out his phone. “I’ve got an idea.”

Seeing the hopeful smile rising on Justin’s lips made Brian feel better. He found Shea’s number from the contact list and lifted the phone to his ear. Luck was on his side and the queen picked up after one short ring.

“Hey, yeah- Look- Look- Listen! Can we leave Justin’s- Alaska’s, stuff in the backroom if we grab a cab to Rogers Park?” Brian asked and lifted his hand up as a sign for Justin to wait as Shea made some enquiries.

“Awesome, thanks girl,” Brian ended the call with a wide grin. “I know a place.”

 

* *

 

A cab ride from Boystown to Rogers Park on a Wednesday would’ve taken a quarter of an hour, so Brian wasn’t too upset when the taxi driver pulled next to Touché just twenty minutes later. Justin insisted paying and stepped to the street, clearly excited.

“A leather bar?” he exclaimed seeing the crowd at the entrance and stared at Brian his mouth open. “Giiirl, you don’t look like the type!”

Brian slammed the cab door closed and turned to Justin, raising his eyebrows as if offended. “And what type is that?”

“You know,” Justin grinned and gave him a quick once over with a shrug. “A little Green Acres.”

Brian flipped the tall queen the finger and sneered before turning towards the bar, only to realise that the line consisted of women, _only_ women.

“Shit,” he swore and glanced at the poster at Touché’s window. Of course he’d picked the only lesbian night of the month to drag Justin out of Boystown. What now? The only viable option seemed like Dino’s but he’d never been in the damn place. “I’m sorry, man, I think it’s a ladies night.”  
  
Justin glanced at the line and pursed his lips.

“They’re a little more lax at Jackhammer tonight.”

Brian turned to the woman smoking nearby and noticed her Touché staff t-shirt as she smiled at Brian comfortingly.

“Yeah?” he asked, renewed hope lighting his face.

“Yeah, because of us,” the woman snorted and nodded towards the poster. “Worth checking out at least” she finished, eyeing between them. Brian was sure she had concluded Jackhammer wasn’t really their scene, and she was right. It wasn’t.  
  
“Yeah alright, thanks,” Brian nodded and pulled Justin with him as he started to walk down Clark Street.  
  
“Jackhammer?” Justin asked, taking a couple of leaps to catch up with Brian.

“Another leather bar,” Brian explained, adjusting his red trucker cap. They would never get in dressed like this. “Come on, let’s try.”

Brian turned right at the first corner and walked to the surprisingly short line. As they reached the door the bouncer gave them one look before an assertive: “No.”

  
“Come on, man, we’ll go straight down.”

Brian didn’t know what had made him volunteer Justin for the experience of _the Hole_ without any preceding consultation, but as he bouncer lifted his eyebrows in challenge Brian got more determined.

“Please?” he asked, tilting his head at the man. “We just came from Boystown and Touché is seized by horny lesbians.”

The bouncer rolled his eyes and opened the door reluctantly. “I don’t want to see you upstairs.”

“Roger that,” Brian nodded, grabbed Justin’s wrist and pulled the man inside.

Jackhammer catered to a totally different audience from Roscoe’s. Instead of superfluous Axe deodorant and stingy cheap hairspray, from the moment you stepped into the bar you could smell the mixture of testosterone-laden sweat, dried up alcohol and rubber.

Brian led Justin left from the main bar, towards the narrow metal stairs that lead down to the cellar, or like most affectionately referred to the place, the Hole. There was a man in a full rubber body suit and knee high boots guarding the entrance.  
  
“You need to strip,” Brian said to Justin, who raised his eyebrows in question. “It’s a fetish thing. Leather, rubber, sports gear or underwear,” he explained and started to unbutton his shirt.  

“You’re joking,” Justin said through a laugh, eyeing Brian in amusement.

Brian just raised his eyebrows, gave Justin a tired look of a _‘Really girl?’_ and opened his fly.

“I take my earlier statement back,” Justin smirked as he pulled his top off.

Brian decided not to point out that he rarely visited Jackhammer, the Hole even less. He’d just wanted to get Justin out of Roscoe’s and Touché had popped to his mind. He hadn’t had any initial intentions to take Justin anywhere near as adventurous as the Hole, and if that made him vanilla, or ‘a little Green Acres’, as Justin had put it, so be it.

Without respecting Justin’s commentary with a reply, Brian proceeded with his undressing. He tried not to stare too much as Justin stripped down to his purple Calvin Klein briefs and revealed the narrowest hips Brian had ever seen, decorated with an admirable bulge underneath. Brian was suddenly grateful that his own checkered boxer shorts hid successfully, not only his chubby butt but also his averaged sized genitalia.

They stuffed some money into their shoes, following the lead of the men lining up in front of them, and deposited their clothes before stepping into the sparsely decorated cellar.

The air felt heavy as the crowd moved with the music, the volume leaving some room for conversation. At their left there was a man strapped to a Saint Andrew’s cross and a strong bear was spanking him with a crop as he moaned for the crowd’s entertainment. At their right, the space expanded to another room and a dark hallway. Brian could smell the sex.

“Drink?” he asked Justin who was taking in their surroundings, his lips slightly ajar. Brian could see Justin’s breaths getting shallower and his eyes clouding with admiration of the amount of exposed, naked skin. Brian smirked at Justin’s reaction and concluded that he hadn’t made a completely wrong judgment call by bringing him here. He grabbed Justin’s wrist once more and pulled him to the bar, trying to avoid the sweatiest bodies, intentionally brushing against some of the attractive ones.

“Two Jack an' Cokes,” he ordered without checking Justin’s preference and felt a hand on his shoulder. He started to turn but halted as he felt Justin’s lips on his cheek and pulled back after the accidental collision.

“Becks Blue, if they have,” Justin said, licking his lips and Brian could feel his warm breath against his cheek. He nodded, but as he turned back to the bartender the man had already disappeared.

 

Brian didn’t come to the Hole often because Josh, his promiscuous ex, did. Like Justin just moments ago, Josh had also referred to Brian as vanilla at their first encounter. Brian didn’t necessarily object to the observation but neither did he understand why one might accept a leather harness and a rubber suit but disapprove of a pink, tulle dress or a pair of size 13 stilettos in the wardrobe. Obviously, they had eventually broken up for more pressing reasons than preferred play outfits but ever since Brian had avoided Jackhammer. The bartender was back and placed two plastic cups in front of them.  
  
“And a Becks Blue,” Brian completed the order. He could feel Justin’s hand slip away from his shoulder and turned to look.

Justin was leaning back, looking at his left with slightly squinted eyes. He licked his lips and raised his chin to reveal and bring attention to his neck and prominent collarbones. The sight made Brian’s cock twitch and it wasn’t even him that Justin was cruising. The fact that Brian was leaning against the dirty bar top to get them drinks as Justin was getting eyefucked by a stranger made Brian simultaneously annoyed and jealous. Annoyed at his own insecurities -- he’d never picked up the art of cruising -- and jealous of the fact that Justin had already set his eyes on someone. Brian downed half of one of the drinks in his reach to calm down his reactions; the arousal as well as the peeking jealousy. Then the bartender was back and placed a bottle of Becks onto the bar top. Brian blinked at the silver label that red “alcohol free” in bright red and chuckled at the absurdity that Alaska Thunderfuck was sober. He turned to Justin, placing his hand on the man’s waist.

“Here,” he said and handed him the bottle. “You don’t drink?”

Justin smiled in response. “Not excessively anymore, no,” he said and took a sip.

“Come on, Barbie, let’s dance.”

Dancing in the Hole is a little different to dancing at Roscoe’s. There is a real chance that the couple next to you are fondling each other’s dicks that might, or might not be hidden by their jockstraps. It is not unusual for someone to grab your ass in admiration or to reach out to feel your biceps at passing. If you make your way into the dark hidden corners, you can witness slow blowjobs and leather daddies getting rimmed. Alternatively, if watching is not your thing, you can partake to a discussion of the contemporary political climate or _Game of Thrones_ while getting fucked to the rhythm of Air’s _Sexy Boy_.

The Hole was definitely not the most conventional of queer spaces and as such, it was a little out of Brian’s comfort zone. Surprisingly enough, Justin seemed completely at ease as he surrendered to the beat.

 

*  *

 

An hour or so later, Brian stepped out of the bathroom, drying his wet hands on his boxers, and made his way back to the bar for his third drink. He’d left Justin in the crowd three songs ago, but figured the man could handle himself for a little while longer. Having learned from his earlier mistake he avoided touching the bar top as he waited for the bartender and suddenly felt a large, warm hand on his waist.

“It’s hard to get your attention.”

The voice was definitely not Justin’s.

Brian turned to look and took in the short but beautifully built man. Large, dark tattoos covered his well-formed chest and shoulders and there was a clear appreciative glimmer in his gaze as he studied Brian.

“It is?” Brian asked and wanted to smack himself. He sounded like a lost cub on his first night out in the BearCity.

The man smirked and nodded as he stroked Brian’s side. Then he leaned closer, as if going to whisper something, but halted midway before backing away. “I’m sorry,” he said squinting his eyes. “Didn’t realise you were taken.”

Brian blinked, confused at the way in which the man took a step back, his warm hand disappearing from Brian’s waist, only to be replaced with a lot colder touch.

“No harm done,” Justin drawled and pressed his entire upper body against Brian’s side as he wrapped his right arm around Brian’s shoulders.

Brian felt like an outsider following the situation and couldn’t quite get to the bottom of it. Was Justin seriously cock-blocking him right now? He threw an annoyed glance at him and opened his mouth but didn’t get a turn to speak up as Justin crashed their mouths together in a clumsy, forceful kiss.

Brian froze, staring at Justin cross-eyed. His heart was hammering in his chest and he didn’t know what to do with his hands, which left them hovering in mid air. Justin had closed his eyes and while Brian was pretty certain the man was not in a regular habit of hooking up with his colleagues, Alaska did have a history of RuGirl kai-kai. Brian had dismissed Justin as a potential hook up, despite their light flirting on the dance floor, which Brian had at the time dismissed as a show for the other men. Additionally, Brian hadn’t thought of himself as Justin’s type the slightest. Now, however, he felt the need to reconsider. Maybe Justin really was into his midwestern single-dad aesthetic? Brian was just about to open his lips, wrap his arms around Justin’s incredibly narrow hips and pull the man closer, when Justin stepped back.

“I’m sor-”

Brian didn’t let him finish but tilted his head and brought his lips gently back against Justin’s, pulling the man firmly against him, chest to chest. He could feel Justin tense and hold his breath as Brian traced his lower lip with his tongue. Brian’s heart was pounding, making him slightly dizzy and he thought he’d misjudged the situation completely as Justin dithered. Well, fuck. But then slowly, almost shyly, Justin parted his lips and leaned into the kiss. He smelled of cigarettes and tasted of stale beer, neither of which made it to Brian’s list of favorite things, but the way in which Justin's slimmer frame pressed against him and the way in which his hold got stronger, rougher; and particularly the way in which he trapped Brian’s lower lip into gentle bites at times, those Brian might add to the list.

The kiss ended with Justin pulling his head up and pressing his forehead against Brian’s as they tried to calm their breaths.

Brian didn’t know what to say or where to go from there, his hands still wrapped around Justin’s waist; their bodies pressed together, Justin’s cold fingers in Brian’s neck. He could feel Justin’s arousal against his thigh and licked his lips, not quite certain if he himself was responsible for it, or if it was the Hole and the men in it, possibly even just the atmosphere. He had to say something, though, preferably before the silence between them got too awkward.

“What were you going to say?” he asked.

“Oh, um,” Justin hesitated and bit his lip, refusing to meet Brian’s eyes. “Nothing.”

Brian swallowed. Justin’s body language revealed that ‘nothing’ had definitely been _something_ , but Brian had no way of knowing what and asking again was out of the question. So he decided to ignore the uneasy feeling the situation left him with and was about to turn to the bar to get his drink, determined to ignore, and eventually hopefully forget, the entire encounter when Justin surprised him yet again.  
  
“Do you- Umm… Do you wanna get out of here?”

Despite his shock, or maybe because of it, Brian nodded.

 

*   *

 

The hotel Justin was staying at was nicer than what Brian had expected. The walls were white and the floors wooden, and while there was a lot to be desired from the receptionist that kept sneering at them as they had waited for the elevator, at least the flowers at her desk were real.

The silence between them had moved beyond awkwardness as neither of them had volunteered to break it since the second cab ride of the night, both choosing to enjoy the silent sexual charge; the brief moments their eyes met as they caught each other looking, wondering what the other was thinking, imagining, hoping for -- _wanting_.

As the elevator finally reached the seventh floor, Brian glanced at Justin who gave him a look of pure lust over his shoulder before leading the way.

It took Justin two tries to get the key card to work, but when it finally did, the opened door seemed to release something raw, something previously restrained. He grabbed Brian’s collar and dragged him inside with a lot more force than what Brian had anticipated from a man his size and as their lips met in the darkness, Brian could taste Justin’s cigarettes.

Ignoring the foul flavor, Brian fumbled the wall for a light switch but failed as Justin pulled him further into the room and pushed him on the bed. Straddling his lap, Justin proceeded to open his shirt and groaned into his mouth through hungry, rushed kisses. There was determination and emergency in Justin’s movements and as he thrust a condom and a travel sized lubricant at Brian, Brian paused.

“Fuck.”

Brian didn’t realise he had sworn out loud before Justin stopped and looked down at him, perplexed.

“What?” he asked out of breath, straddling Brian’s lap. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing was wrong, per se, and Brian bit his lip. How the fuck hadn’t Justin picked on any of the cues? How in the name of Lucifer and the seven fugly dwarfs had Brian failed to convey his preference to the man? Surely, _surely,_ he didn’t come across domineering enough to fool anyone? Or maybe he did? Jesus fucking Christ on crutches. Who even wanted anal sex drunk? Admittedly, he himself did, but after he’d yielded to the fact that his only possible hook up for the night was none other than Alaska Thunderfuck out of drag -- not that he was complaining -- he’d contented himself with the upcoming frottage and blowjobs; two bottoms could still have fun, no?

Brian swallowed and looked up at Justin. He looked confused and Brian wondered if he could pull it off. He could just simply keep his mouth shut and go with it, because he was really hard, and because he really wanted to come, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know _how to_ top, and now he could see Justin picking up on his train of thought... Shit, he would have to act quick.

“Oh,” Justin noted, realisation dawning on his face. “You prefer to bottom.”

It wasn’t a question and to Brian’s surprise, Justin didn’t sound entirely crestfallen. He grinned apologetically, because what else was he supposed to do?

“Okay…” Justin drawled and scratched his neck. “Not my first pick, but not a deal breaker either.”

Brian’s brain did a similar movement to a Toyota Corolla that hit a semi-truck going 70 mph on a highway.

“Huh?” he asked, pulling together all the remains of his abused intellect.

Justin chuckled through his nose and grabbed back the condom, as well as the lube, and smirked.

“Not a problem, honey.”

Brian blinked at the attitude change and before his intoxicated brain could fully register what was happening, Justin had gotten off of him, pushed him up on the bed, kicked his legs apart and was leaning over him to kiss him hungrily. Brian had heard rumours of versatile bottoms but had never encountered or experienced one, therefore assigning them to the category of a “lovely but completely false gay culture myth”. Tonight, however, as Justin proceeded to fuck him through the mattress, Brian secretly appointed himself as the gay Jamie Hyneman.

 

 


End file.
